


lost in translation

by queenhomeslice



Series: That’s it! I’ve come up with a new romance!: Ignis/Reader Stories [11]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Chubby Reader, Curvy Reader, F/M, Happy Ending, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, Misunderstandings, Speaking French, fat reader, foreign language tutor reader, plus size reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:46:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28251108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenhomeslice/pseuds/queenhomeslice
Summary: Gladio thinks he's setting Ignis up with a blind date.You think Gladio's setting you up with a new foreign language student.
Relationships: Ignis Scientia/Reader
Series: That’s it! I’ve come up with a new romance!: Ignis/Reader Stories [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1686343
Comments: 17
Kudos: 51





	lost in translation

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with Square Enix or any production studios behind the Final Fantasy franchise or Final Fantasy XV; I am not making money from this work and I do not own the rights to FF in any way. 
> 
> _____  
> thanks to @thwippersnapple for the idea!
> 
> Obviously the foreign language that the reader is speaking is French. There's only a very few words and phrases in here, though, and most of them I translate directly afterwards so I'm not including a dictionary in the notes, sorry.

“Aw c’mon Ignis, she’s really nice! Besides, when’s the last time you’ve had a date?” Gladio waggles his eyebrows and throws his arm over Iggy’s shoulder. 

Ignis sighs as he puts the final touches on the pot of ratatouille he’s making, topping the pot with the glass lid, leaning to turn the burner down to a low simmer. He turns and ducks from under Gladio’s arm, leaning on the counter next to the stove. He lifts an eyebrow and studies his smirking face. “I had a date three weeks ago, thank you.”

“From the way you tell it, it was thirty minutes in a coffee shop and then you ghosted her.”

“Why would I waste my time when there was clearly a lack of chemistry?”

Gladio chuckles. “Okay, fine. Listen. I promise this one will be better.”

“No,” says Ignis. “I am perfectly capable of going on dates without you attempting to play Cupid.”

“You’re not,” says Gladio, crossing the kitchen to grab a drink from the fridge. “Ignis, before I stepped in, you hadn’t dated anyone in over a year.” 

“And I was perfectly content,” Ignis grumbles. Gladio tosses him a can of the vanilla pale ale and Ignis catches it smoothly in one hand. 

“C’mon, princess is practically grown,” Gladio says as he pops the tab and takes a long sip. “He’s attending Council meetings all by himself, and he’s even cleaning his apartment now. So you can actually do stuff that _you_ want to do. Like ladies.” Gladio winks and lifts the can to his lips again. 

Ignis rolls his eyes, but opens the can of ale anyway and drinks. He sets it on the counter and levels his gaze at the shield. “I am perfectly content.”

Gladio cackles and shakes his head. “That’s a damn lie, Iggy. C’mon. What would you wanna do if you had some free time?”

“Certainly not waste it on pointless meetings with women I don’t even particularly like.” 

Gladio takes another long drag of the vanilla ale and then smirks. “What if I told you she was from Accordo?”

The swift rebuttal that is ready and waiting on Ignis’ tongue retreats. He feels his eyes widen. “She’s not Lucian?”

“Nope,” Gladio answers confidently, continuing to smirk as emotions dance across his friend’s face. “Didn’t you always say you wanted to learn the language that’s spoken on the Northern Island?”

Ignis swallows. “Yes,” he says, suddenly breathless. 

“She’s fluent in it, a native speaker. She’s been teaching Iris for the past year, but Iris wants to move on to another language, so this week is her last session.”

Ignis bristles. “You’re sure that she’s single?”

“Oh, definitely. It’s one of the first questions I asked her.”

“Hm, turned you down, did she?”

“Cheeky,” Gladio answers. “I didn’t ask. I mean she’s cute but, I thought she would be more your taste.” He shrugs. “But hey, if it doesn’t work out, let me know.”

Ignis takes another sip of ale and swishes the creamy alcohol around in his mouth before swallowing. “Okay,” he says, looking at Gladio. “We’ll give it a go.” 

“Perfect,” Gladio answers. 

__________

You sit across from Gladiolus Amicitia, the man you’ve been friends with for a few years now. You’ve just finished your contract with his family--private language lessons for his younger sister, Iris. Aside from private lessons, you also do freelance work for companies as an independent contractor, translating business documents, emails, product manuals, and short manuscripts. It allows you to live modestly in a studio apartment in the bustling capitol of Insomnia, and you’re free to work anywhere. You are often set up with your laptop in this very Ebony Roasters, since it’s only a block away from your apartment building. 

The very handsome royal shield is sitting across from you, sipping hot chocolate and snacking on a chocolate croissant. “So,” he says, smiling. 

“ _Oui?_ Yes?” you say, mother tongue coming out first. “I have a sneaking suspicion that you are up to something.”

Gladio laughs and sits back in the steel chair. “Have I ever told you how cute your accent is?”

“Multiple times,” you say with a smile. “You ask me out to coffee to talk about my accent?”

Gladio smirks, which is always a dangerous thing. “So I have this friend,” he says.

You hold up your hand immediately. “ _Non_ , no, absolutely not. No random meetings, Gladiolus, please.”

“Let me finish, will ya? He’s from Tenebrae.”

That bit of information gives you pause. You always did have a thing for foreign guys, especially the suave, handsome men from the little peninsula above Niflheim. You tilt your head. “He is nice, like you? I have a strict rule. No assholes.” 

Gladio smiles. “Oh yes, he’s definitely nice.”

You bite your lip. Even lots of guys who you thought were nice in the past ended up to be...quite the opposite. You’re aware that your body isn’t attractive to everyone, but Lucis seemed to be a little more particular about weight. You hoped that this friend from Tenebrae hadn’t absorbed _all_ of the local customs. “Okay,” you say quietly. 

“Well, here’s the thing though,” says Gladio. “He’s always wanted language lessons. Specifically, _your_ language lessons.”

You lift an eyebrow. “Oh, so, is this a client. Okay.” You smile. You’re dropping Iris Amicitia, so picking up more private lessons is definitely a good thing. And so, what does it matter how attractive you are to a client? 

Gladio reaches for his phone and swipes until he finds what he’s looking for, then slides his phone across to you. 

Astrals, the man in the photo is probably one of the most handsome men you’ve ever laid eyes on. He looks almost as tall as Gladio, with legs for days. His hair is swept up into a style not unlike a bird’s crest, but somehow, it suits him. He’s pressed into a tailored suit, and silver glasses obscure bright, gorgeous emerald eyes. His chiseled jaw and full lips complete the package. Damn. You almost wish Gladio _was_ setting you up on a date. You slide Gladio’s phone back to him and look up. “Tell me about this friend.”

“His name is Ignis, Ignis Scientia. He’s one of the prince’s retainers.”

“Like you?”

“Well...kinda. See, I’m Noct’s Shield. Like...like his personal bodyguard. First in line to defend him from harm, to lay down my life for him if need be. Ignis is...when Noctis assumes the throne, Ignis will be his Hand. Hand of the King. Like his most trusted advisor. I mean, Iggy can fight, too, but that’s not his _primary_ function.” 

Your eyes widen in understanding. “He is very important, then.”

Gladio nods, sipping his hot chocolate. “Extremely important. Which is why it’s crucial for him to be a polyglot. He knows a few languages already, but for some reason, he hasn’t gotten around to yours yet.”

“He must already be smart, and well-read.” You hum in appreciation. You do have a thing for tall, gorgeous men who are also suave, smart, and put-together. And judging from the photos, this Ignis character seems to be all that and more. “He will need to know these languages in order to communicate with foreign dignitaries.”

“Yeah, exactly,” says Gladio, nodding. “So, when I can set you two up?”

______

You decide to dress simply for the meeting--after all, he’s a client, not a date. You are the teacher and he is the student. You’re dressed in a Briton-striped sweater, black ballet flats, and a beige trenchcoat. Your hair is washed and styled simply, choppy layers framing your round face perfectly. The only makeup you have on is a dark red lipstick, and aside from the diamond posts in your ears, the only jewelry you’re wearing is a small skull pendant you’d gotten from an import shop in your homeland before immigrating. Your planner is tucked into your leather messenger bag so that you can coordinate with the (seemingly very busy) advisor. 

Stepping into your regular Ebony Roasters Cafe, you scan the shop, looking for Gladio’s pretty friend. You finally spot him in an isolated corner, one long leg crossed over the other. He’s holding a newspaper in one hand and a large paper cup in the other, sipping mechanically as he reads the news. You feel yourself blush, but you mutter a few mantras in your native tongue so that you can quell your anxiety, and bid your chubby legs to move forward. 

“Ah, Mr. Scientia?”

Ignis’ ears perk up at the foreign accent that curls around his last name like a cashmere blanket. He lowers the newspaper and sets his coffee cup on the small, round table and looks up to find the source of the sound. 

You meet Ignis’ shining green eyes for the first time in real life, and your heart rate instantly speeds up. Heat rises to your cheeks once again, and you find yourself fidgeting with the strap of your bag. “Ah,” you mumble, clearing your throat. “I am ________ _________, the friend of Gladiolus. He said we were to meet.”

“Oh, yes, yes of course,” says Ignis. He folds his newspaper and sets it face down on the little table. “Please, yes, have a seat. I’m Ignis.” He reaches out his hand. 

You place your small, fat hand in his and pump it a couple of times, marveling at the warmth of his soft skin. You sit, holding your bag on your lap. 

“It’s lovely to meet you,” he says, licking his full lips. 

You can’t help but stare. “Ah, yes! _Enchanté_ , of course.” You see Ignis’ high cheekbones flush light pink at your words. It’s probably the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. And as enamored with your accent as Gladio is, that high Tenebraen dialect is _so_ incredibly sexy to you. You silently hope that Ignis signs up for a couple of years’ worth of lessons, at least. 

“Coffee?” Ignis says, rising. “My treat, of course.”

“ _Oui_ , yes. Ah...what do you call it. _Cafe glacé_. Coffee, with ice?”

Ignis smiles and nods. “Iced coffee, yes. Anything in it?”

You shake your head. “ _Non, merci_.” You pause. “Forgive me. I am nervous. No, thank you. The coffee is okay to be plain.” 

Ignis smiles. “I’ll be back shortly with your order.”

“Thank you, Mr. Scientia.”

Ignis only shakes his head. “Please, call me Ignis.”

Ignis returns with a large cup of black cold brew and hands it over, smoothly gliding down back into his chair. In his absence, you’d gotten out your planner, which is old and worn and full of due dates to the various translation projects that you’re working on, as well as the time slots that you have dedicated to private lessons. Since you’ve now ended with the Amicitias, you’re working with only one other student, twice a week. You look up from your planner and take the coffee, nodding your thanks and taking a long sip of the bitter liquid. 

“Okay, so here is what I have open. Tuesdays and Thursdays from 5:30 to 7:30 pm. Or perhaps Monday and Wednesday from 2 to 4 pm, with an optional Friday lesson being a thirty-minute phone conversation.”

Ignis just blinks at you. “Beg pardon?” He looks at your open planner on the table, then back up to you. 

You tilt your head. “Gladio said that you were interested in my language lessons. I am sorry, have I misunderstood?”

Ignis clicks his tongue as realization blooms across his face. “Ah, no. Of course not. You are correct, I would very much like to learn your language.”

“I am a good teacher,” you nod. 

“I’m certain that you are,” says Ignis softly. “If you’re good enough for Gladio’s sister, you’re certainly good enough for me.” He clears his throat. “I apologize, I just didn’t expect us to discuss business so soon.” 

Your eyes widen in horror. “Oh--have I offended you? Please, I meant no--”

“No, darling, of course not,” says Ignis, reaching across the table and placing his hand on yours. “No harm, no foul. Now, when are you available again?”

Flustered, you draw back your hand and repeat your openings. 

“Tuesdays and Thursdays would work perfectly.”

“Great,” you say shyly, penciling in his name in your planner. “How long is the commitment?”

“I know this sounds absurd, but would I be able to do a small trial run? Just to be sure I can effectively balance these lessons with my other duties to his Highness.” 

You nod, sadly thinking that you are not going to get Ignis for very long. “Of course. How long should the starting time be?”

“What about six weeks?” asks Ignis. “That would put our last lesson ending on the day before Christmas Eve.”

“That is a good length of time. I can teach you a lot in a month. Many basics.”

Ignis smiles. “I look forward to it.” 

_________

After just the third lesson, you find yourself definitely falling for the handsome retainer of Prince Noctis. Ignis had insisted on texting in your native language, and you find it increasingly adorable of his short, beginner-level phrases-- _Good morning, I am eating lunch, Today it is raining_. Ignis is an incredibly fast learner, though, due to his conversational knowledge of two other Accordian languages, Old Lucian, and even the dialects spoken in the southern regions of Niflheim. The homework lessons that he does each week is always given back to you flawlessly--or if less than perfect, there’s very little for you to correct. You give Ignis a few of your favorite films to watch so that he can hear the language, as well as some popular singers from your country as well. The two of you end up talking _way_ more than the four hours a week that he pays you for--but honestly, you don’t mind. When 7:30 hits, and Ignis asks to watch a few MoogTube videos, huddled up under cozy blankets on your couch while you both sip tea and you guide him in conversation--how are you supposed to say no? When he calls you on the phone at random hours to practice a short speech he’s been working on, _of course_ you’re going to let him talk as long as he desires. 

You only hope that you are being professional and hiding your feelings. You’d hate for there to be any misunderstanding. Your language is often called “the language of love,” and you’re dedicated to showing your affection for him through the care and patience that you pour into your lessons. 

  
  


______

“So, how’s it going?”

You find yourself at a street vendor across Insomnia with Gladio, eating Galahdian cuisine. It’s something that you’ve come to love since immigrating to Lucis, and you’ve even learned to cook some of it yourself, at home. 

“Oh, with Ignis? It’s going very well, thank you Gladiolus. We are meeting twice a week, and he is a very fast learner.” You sip your iced tea and dig out your phone, swiping to some of Ignis’ most recent messages in your native language, showing them to Gladio. 

The shield grins as he slurps down some noodles. “Look at Iggy go! I knew you two would be a good match.” Gladio’s so impressed. He’s known Ignis for years, and the man is not a natural texter. He’s glad that Ignis is getting more open to communication. 

“Yes, I do like him very much,” you say, nodding. “He is very...how do you say it...receptive. When his attention is on you it is like no one else is there.”

Gladio grins wolfishly. “Oh, yeah. Iggy is _very_ focused and detail-oriented. I’m glad you guys are getting along. What’s it been, three weeks now?”

“Time is flying by so fast. But hopefully he will keep me around.”

Gladio winks. “Don’t worry sweetheart, I think he will.” 

_______

By the fourth week, you realize that you are rapidly approaching the end of Ignis’ “trial” period, so you start to work on his final project for the end of the lesson. You write Ignis a love confession in the form of an old Accordian-style sonnet from the Middle Ages, in the old, archaic language of the Northern Island. It takes you a whole week of translation yourself to make sure you have the proper wording of the older language, and by the time the fifth lesson rolls around, you hand him the poem and tell him of the challenge, sweating nervously. His beautiful green eyes shine behind his glasses and he slips the poem into the notebook where he keeps all of his language notes and worksheets. 

“May we watch _Amélie_ again? If it’s not too much of an imposition, that is. I do seem to be quite taken with that film.” 

You grin widely and nod, heart thrumming against your ribcage as your feelings lie tucked into Ignis’ leather portfolio, waiting to be unearthed like an ancient mummy. “I will make us some tea. Are you hungry?” Even though most of your private lessons are taught in your modest little apartment, somehow the atmosphere with Ignis around is infinitely more intimate than anything you’ve ever felt before. If you close your eyes, you can almost imagine the two of you living together, cooking together, snuggling on the couch and watching a movie at the end of a long day, possibly falling into bed together. 

Ignis blinks up at you as he rises from the kitchen table and glides gracefully to the couch, folding one impossibly long leg over the other. “I would hate to impose, however, I am quite famished.” 

You nod, rising. “I made a quiche this morning, cheese and ham and spinach. I will heat it up! The movie is on the shelf.” 

Ignis nods and rises again, getting the movie from its familiar place on your shelf. He opens the disc drive on the gaming console and pops the movie in, turning on the tv and hitting the input button for the right channel, waiting patiently for you to return. 

_________

It’s Thursday, the final lesson of the six week trial period between you and Ignis as language tutor and student. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, and snow has already begun to blanket Insomnia. Ignis is working on some of the final lessons you’ve prepared for him while you’re on a phone call with your family back in Accordo. You pace back and forth in the hallway, secretly hoping that Ignis found your old language sonnet to be too difficult to decipher on just a few weeks of grammar and vocabulary. As you speak with various family members that are gathered together for the holidays, you find yourself gazing at the back of Ignis’ long, slender neck as he hunches over your kitchen table, dictionary and worksheets splayed out everywhere. What would it be like to come home to him? To have him hold you in his arms and whisper sweetly in your ear? To have the dedication he shows in everyday life, to the crown, shown to you? 

You find yourself sniffling as you say goodbye to your _maman_ , and she thankfully dismisses it as lonely holiday jitters and the typical emotion of being a whole ocean away over the holidays. Hanging up, you slip your phone into your pocket and just lean against your wall, watching Ignis work and mutter to himself, flip through the dictionary, scribble on paper, practice the pronunciations out loud. The minutes tick by, and you lose yourself in just observing this tall, lithe, beautiful man. You suddenly feel very self-conscious, thinking how stupid you must be for having a crush on someone so debonair and perfect. This is a professional relationship, nothing more. You only hope that Ignis will decide to let you teach him more--if your sonnet doesn’t abruptly end things. Then again, you’d never told him that _you_ were the one who penned it. With all of the literature classes you’d had in college, you’re confident in your ability to create a Medieval sonnet. Besides, surely Ignis wouldn’t know every single romantic poem to come out of Accordo...right? You gulp nervously, hoping that he’s at least kind about the rejection. 

Ignis sits up abruptly, causing you to jump. You look at your phone, realizing that it’s almost 7:30. You’re always prepared for Ignis to stay longer to watch videos or a movie in your mother tongue, or for him to ask you to guide him through a simple recipe (mug cakes are always good practice, so you can coach him through measurements and ingredients, and they take just a few minutes to cook in the microwave)--you’d _never_ turn down more quality time with this gorgeous man. You hope he doesn’t think you’re a creep. You hurriedly look at your phone, pretending to be reading. 

“Is your family well?” he asks. 

You look up to see him turned in the chair, green eyes shining at you expectedly. You clear your throat and nod. “Yes, forgive my absence for your lesson. My _maman_ can be very talkative,” you say fondly. “And I got distracted by reading. I am sorry. Have you finished with the homework?” You somehow make your legs move from the hallway over to the kitchen table. To your horror, your hand-written poem is in front of him, translated back into the language of Lucis. _Perfectly_. And the other worksheets you’d handed him at the beginning of the evening are all done--even a cursory glance tells you that Ignis has completed them perfectly. 

You feel yourself go a little weak at the knees and flush, tongue heavy in your mouth. You can’t even look him in the eye. All you can do is stare at your heart laid bare in graphite and paper. 

“__________,” Ignis says, accent curling around his words like a warm scarf on a snowy night. 

“ _Oui_?” is all you can muster, still avoiding his gaze. Gods, he must think you’re such a creep. Why on earth did you ever think this was a good idea? 

“I’ve translated your sonnet,” says Ignis. “You sent me on quite the goose chase.”

You hear the lightness in Ignis’ voice, and you finally decide to look at him. Gods, he’s so handsome when he smiles, how could you anything else except fall head over heels for him? “I am sorry if it was too hard. I thought maybe you would like a challenge, even though we have only been having lessons for six weeks.”

“I enjoyed the challenge,” says Ignis, eyes twinkling. “The funny thing, however, is that no matter how hard I tried, I was unable to locate this particular love poem in any of the manuscripts in His Majesty's library. I spent hours in the Citadel, dusty old tomes open, scouring them for this sonnet in its original folio. Alas, my efforts were all for naught. Even the trusted internet failed me. I spoke with scholars of Medieval Accordian texts at universities both here and abroad. And...nothing.” 

You know that your round face is _definitely_ flushed pink. You hadn’t anticipated Ignis going to that many lengths to find the origins of the poem that had none--it was all you, here and now--modern, and not ancient at all. Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth, but Ignis continues before you can even try to defend yourself. 

“Do you remember, when we first met in the Ebony Roasters cafe? I was taken aback at your proposal of language lessons. When Gladio first told me about you, it was initially to set me up on a blind date.”

You freeze, blinking at him, mouth falling open in awe. “Are you...what are you saying?”

“I thought we were meeting to...to _date_ ,” says Ignis softly. “I initially thought that I was going to be involved with you...romantically.”

“Oh, Gods,” you say, bringing your hand up to your mouth. “I thought...I was almost thinking the same thing. And then he mentioned you were wanting my language lessons so I was like, okay this is a client.” You exhale long and slow. “A couple of weeks ago, he asked me, how were we getting along? And I said okay? And I described all what we were doing. And he...he just kept smiling?” You shake your head. “I am so sorry to have misunderstood.”

“No, love,” says Ignis, taking both of your hands in his. 

You feel yourself erupt into goosebumps at the warmth. 

“This sonnet,” he continues. “You are its author, correct?”

You nod, feeling the tears well up. “I am sorry, Ignis,” you say, unable to keep from crying. “You are a wonderful man, and I cannot help but to fall in love with you.”

“Darling,” says Ignis, pressing those perfect, full lips to the backs of your hands, “I have been enamored with you for weeks now. You are simply stunning. I haven’t got a snowball’s chance in hell of resisting you, try as I might.”

You sniff hard, hardly believing your ears. “You are...you like me?”

“ _Je t’aime_ ,” says Ignis smoothly, your native tongue sounding oh-so-wonderful coming from his mouth. 

Your chest is tight with emotion, tears continuing to fall as Ignis rises and wraps you up into a tight hug. You feel him kiss the top of your head--no, that won’t do. You draw away and plant your hands on his sharp cheekbones and draw him down to you, finally getting a taste of the lips you’ve been dreaming about for weeks on end. 

  
  


Sometime much later in the evening, you and Ignis are cuddling in bed, sticky and sweaty, reveling in each others’ bare skin and warm bodies. 

“Does this mean you are keeping me for language lessons?” you tease, running your fingertips over his lean, toned abs. 

Ignis laughs and pulls you closer to him, kissing your head again. “I should like to keep you for a very long time, if that’s all right, darling.” 

You nuzzle into his chest, sighing in contentment. “I should like that very much.”

“I’m free on Tuesdays and Thursdays, from 5:30 pm until 7:30 pm,” Ignis deadpans. 

You can only laugh loudly as he bends down to kiss you again, sealing the deal.


End file.
